


We're not in Kansas anymore

by orphan_account



Category: Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, LATER, will add more tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 20:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17588033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	1. Chapter 1

“Um… please tell me this isn’t normal.” Laurens blinks and shakes his head. “The situation certainly does not appear normal. I have never had this occur before.” Good. I nod. “Well, what exactly  _ is _ the situation?” He shrugs. Yeah, I don’t know either. I survey him from head to toe. Um… noticeably shorter. No facial hair. Not like he had much to begin with. Wearing glasses, that are for some reason, green. He’s wearing some weird pants that do, however, look very nice, and a baggy forest green shirt with an attached hood. I blink. “You look like an adolescent.” A pretty scrawny one too.

Laurens crosses his arms. “So do you.” Oh. That’s not good at all. Now I need to see what I look like. I glance down. I seem to have on the same type of pants as Laurens, but in a tan. And then I have a baggy shirt that’s plaid green and white. Oh, and what’s this? A tie? Why do I have a tie? It’s not even a good fashion choice. I can’t see what my physical appearance is yet, although I do seem to be closer to the ground than before. “Um… might you have a mirror?” I ask. Laurens rolls his eyes. “Hamilton, since when have I wanted to casually carry a mirror about?” I shrug. “I’m not entirely sure. We may want to check our pockets just in case to see if anything in there is interesting or able to help us figure out where we are and what we are to do.” 

He rolls his eyes again but digs in a large pocket on his shirt. I don’t seem to have one, but my pants do. I jam my hands into the pockets and pull out some random stuff. No clue what it is. When I glance up at Laurens he has the same confused expression on his face. “Um… well, here's a paper,” I say, picking through my handful of stuff. His face lights up. “Excellent! Maybe it’ll provide information.” I nod and unfold it.  _ John and Alexander. School: J. H. Springfield Middle School. 30789 Pine Road, Albany. Apartment: 17-C, Turtle Creek West Apartment Complex. 28917 Spruce Road, Albany.  _ John, Alexander, and Albany. The only things on there that make any sense. Laurens points to the paper. “Wait, here’s another note.” Oh.  _ Further information will be provided at the apartment. _

Well, that was surprisingly unhelpful. I shrug. “Well, I suppose we go to this ‘apartment’ and figure it out.” He blinks and nods. “Alright. Spruce Road. Road signs?” I scan the vicinity. No, no, no, and… there. “Over there,” I say pointing. Laurens nods again and shoves the random stuff he pulled out of his pocket back in.  I do the same and jog to catch up as he starts off walking. I quickly catch up and settle into an easy pace next to him. 

~~~~~

After ten minutes, we finally locate this ‘apartment complex.’ It’s essentially a large brick building with what seems to be like… small houses? At any rate, we locate the ‘17-C’ one, and, after more digging in our pockets, find the keys. When we walk in, I realize… this is a  _ very _ small house. Laurens blinks and immediately walks to the large table in a room off to the side. “Hamilton, here’s another note!” I rush over.  _ John and Alexander. You are twelve. Sorry. As such, you are expected to attend school regularly. School begins at 8:30 Mondays through Fridays and ends at 3:10. You will walk to school. It is suggested you leave the apartment by 8:04 in order to get to school on time, allowing time for any possible issues that may arrive.  _ Twelve? We’re  _ twelve _ ? I feel like screaming.  _ You are expected to remain at school for the duration of the time. On Monday, tomorrow, you should go to the main office, (there should be signs) introduce yourselves, and receive a schedule. This will tell you where to go and at what times to go there. Follow it please. Listen to all adults as well. Yes, you both are technically adults. But you look twelve and kinda you are actually twelve.  _

Laurens sighs. “Doesn’t sound like much fun.” I nod in agreement and continue reading.  _ If you are not at school, the apartment would probably be the best place to stay until you figure out this world a bit more. Again, so sorry about all this. The apartment is being paid for. Do not worry about that. Food, now that’s more difficult. We’ve managed to give you 1,000 dollars for food and clothing expenses. Use it wisely. After it’s gone you’ll have to earn your own money.  _ Money. That’s one thing I’m good with.  _ You’ve been given a smartphone. This is a tiny glowing box that you can call people with. Don’t drop it. At school, you will each be given a laptop. Please do not embarrass yourself. First, press the rectangular black button. The screen will light up. You ‘log in.’ That means you put your name and a numerical password. Then the screen will change. Hopefully you’ll be able to receive instruction beyond that. Good luck and we’re sorry. _

I roll my eyes and sigh. “Well this sounds horrible. We’re adolescents again and we’re on our own. And then there’s school.” That’s the one thing I’m looking forward to though. Laurens nods and pushes his glasses up. “Alright. Well they should have bedrooms around here somewhere. I get the bigger one. You can sleep on the floor for all I care. Or outside with the loud noises.” Oh. He must be in a super bad mood. I mean, who wouldn’t be? I’m kinda in a bad mood, and I’m the calmest person you’ll ever meet! Actually, that’s a lie. I’m very un-calm.

Laurens locates the bedrooms and claims the largest one. I walk into the one that’s now mine. Well. I was  _ not _ expecting this. Y’know, bedrooms are supposed to be big and have nice curtains and rugs and decorations. This one is smaller than most  _ bathrooms  _ that I’ve seen. And there’s just a bed, a closet, and a pile of books. Wonderful. I open the closet and survey the clothes. Ew. Ew. Ew. How do people  _ live _ ? I don’t see a single suit or vaguely nice shirt in here! More of the weird pants, in tan and blue, shirts with buttons, short shirts that seem to be very thin or something? A bunch of shoes. They aren’t sensible shoes. I don’t see a single dress shoe. Just overly athletic looking ones.

Ugh. I flop down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. What is going on? My dignity and pride took a serious blow when I saw the  _ tie _ , and now this? This… tiny house? And I’m an  _ adolescent _ ? The last time I was an adolescent was not fun, and I had no intention to ever revisit it again.


	2. Chapter 2

Eventually I manage to drift off to sleep. Frankly I’m surprised I’m even able to, with all this stress and worry floating about my head. In the morning, I roll out of the bed and the second my bare adolescent feet hit the wooden floor I’m wide awake. It wasn’t just a dream. I really am stuck in this weird version of Albany with the body and hormones of a twelve-year-old boy. Dang.

I wander into the kitchen, where Laurens is already standing and sorting little boxes of stuff on the table. He looks up when I walk in. “This seems to be food. We probably should take some of it with us to school.” I nod and walk over to the table. This is…  _ food _ ? Is it even edible? There’s a few normal things, like bread and apples, and then some… very not-normal things. Some little crunchy things that look like orange poop, some yellow and brown mush, and then a chunk of something, which on closer inspection, seems to be bread pretending to be meat. I shove some of the mush and bread-meat, along with some real bread, into a bag. 

“Okay, are we ready to go to school now?” I ask Laurens. He shrugs. “I suppose so. It should be just the right time to start heading out.” I nod and we walk out of the tiny-house, locking the door behind us. We walk in silence until we reach what seems to be the school. I look around in confusion and slight shock. All around us are adolescents in various sizes, shapes, and colors. It’s a veritable human zoo. And half the people aren’t behaving much better than animals. Kicking, punching, snickering, screaming. I mean, I’m one for a good fight, but not like this. This seems to have no rules. Give me a pistol and a dueling ground, now that’s a real fight.

Laurens grabs my arm and drags me towards the ‘main office’ signs. Once inside, a large woman glares down at us from behind a desk. I nervously wave, but Laurens walks forward boldly. “Hello, we are the new students. Laurens and Hamilton.” The woman blinks. “John and Alexander?” she says slowly. I nod and she pecks at some black-gray thing in front of her. “Here is your computer,” she adds, handing us each one of those things. Wow. They’re surprisingly heavy. I’m tempted to open it and figure out what to do right now, but we should probably hold back on that until we see what other students do.

The large woman hands us each a few sheets of paper. “Schedule, student handbook, and map. Welcome to J. H. Springfield Middle,” she says, with a wave of her hand and we’re dismissed. I walk out the door, Laurens following behind. “So, um, schedule. That’s probably what we want to look at.” He nods and pulls his paper out. I follow suit and squint at the paper. Well, either these people’s handwriting is a lot worse, or there’s something wrong with my eyes. After a few minutes I glance up at Laurens, who has an amused look on his face. “Don’t tell me you need glasses,” he giggles. I scowl. “Well you have glasses and you probably don’t need them, and I don’t have glasses and I probably need them.” He pauses and blinks. “Do you want my glasses?” Hah. Please no. “No one wants your glasses. They’re an ugly shade of green that no self-respecting person should ever wear.”

He nods. “Well we’ll have to get you some glasses somehow.” I roll my eyes. “Yes, I agree, but can we just move the conversation away from my optical shortcomings?” He shrugs and grabs my schedule paper, quickly scanning it. “Oh! We’re in the same classes apparently. That’s good,” he exclaims. Oh. Yes, that’s nice. 

A loud clanging sound echoes down the hallway and I practically jump out of my skin. “What was that sound? Is that normal?” Laurens glances down the hallway. “Well, this schedule says ‘Bell One’ ‘Bell Two’ etc. So probably it was a bell. And… Bell One… we go to room 218 for science.” He suddenly starts walking off so quickly I have to jog to catch up. We push our way through teeming crowds of adolescents, all trying to get somewhere. Every single one of them looks different. And the clothes. What is up with the clothes? Does no one have respectable attire? I only see about ten girls wearing dresses or skirts, and even with those, half of them are scandalously short. Then there are girls wearing  _ trousers _ ! Is that even legal?


	3. Chapter 3

We finally reach a door that has a sign proclaiming ‘218’ and walk inside. Immediately an adult or teacher of some sort bustles over to us. “Hello, you must be our new students,” he proclaims. “Alexander and John?” I blink at him. Why is he acting so familiar? First names? “Laurens and Hamilton?” The teacher blinks and flips through some papers he’s holding. “Yes… but it’s strange for students to go by last names.” Laurens elbows me in the side. “Go along with it. We don’t want to raise suspicions,” he hisses. Ugh. Fine. I sigh and smile at the teacher. “Yes, hello, I’m Alexander. It’s wonderful to meet you.” The teacher smiles back and shakes our hands. “You too young man. And you must be John. Now, Alexander, sit over there next to Isabelle. John, you can sit next to Eleanor.” 

He points us in two different directions and I dutifully walk over to this Isabelle. She blinks and sticks her hand out for me to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hamilton. I hope we can become friends or at least not mutual enemies.” I blink at her. “My name is Alexander.” She grins, with a touch of menace. “I know. Alexander Hamilton.” Alright, that’s creepy. Her smile alone is concerning, but the air of hidden knowledge behind it is even worse. I give her a wary stare and sit down in my chair. 

“Thank you, and good morning class!” the teacher announces. “We have two new students today. And, boys, forgive me, I never properly introduced myself. My name is Mr. Bailey.” Alright. Mr. Bailey. Should be easy enough to remember. “Now, if you two will stand up and introduce yourselves, that would be great.” I sigh and stand back up. Across the classroom I can see La… John is doing the same. “Good morning everyone. I am Alexander but if you wish you may call me Alex. I enjoy writing and reading, and overall, just heightening my knowledge of the world.” Everyone stares at me. What? Did I say something wrong? Mr. Bailey claps and brings the class’ attention back to him. “Alex, that was excellent… but… um… you said all of that in French, and most of us don’t have the… talent you appear to have in that language.”

Oh. I redden and look down. “Um…. hi I’m Alex. I like to write, read, and learn.” That’s a summary of what I said. I guess I’m just too flustered from my French _ faux pas _ to speak with any sort of authority or whatever. I can see John laughing, all the way across the room. Hmph. Let’s see  _ him _ do better. After composing himself, he beams at Mr. Bailey. “Alright. I am John, I like to read books, I do  _ not _ like studying law, and I like being in nature and examining animals.” Well…. that  _ was _ better than mine. Isabelle suddenly stands up. “Hey, John, how was Switzerland?” He blinks and squints at her. “It was… fine. A bit boring perhaps.” She sits back down with a smirk and I turn to face her. “What was that?” I hiss. She smirks again and shrugs.

Mr. Bailey nods and gestures for John and I to sit down. He prattles on about something or other vaguely science related for approximately one hour, 30 minutes, and five seconds, at which point the same ‘bell’ thing from before rings and the students stream back into the hallway. John walks over to me. “Now we have to find our next class. It’s… orchestra. I suppose that’s good. It’s something that should be easy enough to do, right?” I nod and we head down the hallway.


	4. Chapter 4

The orchestra room isn’t too far away, so we are able to get there before the next ‘bell’ rings. I’m pretty sure that’s what is expected of us anyway. This teacher frowns when we walk in. “Ah, you must be the new students. What instruments do you play?” John and I exchange glances. I mean, I can hit a drum in a rhythmic fashion, but does that count? The teacher waits, staring at us. “Um… they just assigned us to this class. We don’t… really know what instruments to play,” I finally speak up. The teacher sighs, exasperated, and walks over to a small room off the side of this larger one. “Well thank the heavens that this is Beginner Orchestra, and you didn’t come too extremely late in the year. Here. We have two extra violins,” she announces, returning and thrusting one at both of us.

I examine the instrument. Yeah. A violin. Shouldn’t be too hard. “I’m Miss Clermont, if you could kindly go sit in your section so class can commence, that would be excellent.” I nod and walk over to a group of other students holding violins. One of them smiles and points to some empty chairs. We sit down and Miss Clermont nods at the class. “Thank you students. Now, as we have some new students, today will be an independent work day. Theo, if you could help the new violin players with the basics, that would be excellent. Everyone else, work on areas of your playing you most need to improve.”

The boy who smiled before nods and moves his chair closer to me and John. “Hello there, I’m Theo. Nice to meet you. And yeah, Miss Clermont is pretty much that strict all the time. But violins are cool,” he says with a slight accent of some sort. I nod. “You’re not from around here.” I blurt out. He stares at me. Oops. I probably got it wrong. But he nods. “I’m from Virginia. Yeah. Now let’s focus on the violins.” Oh I thought I was right about the accent. For the next hour he crams way too much knowledge of notes and bows and strings and practice into our heads. But at the end I am able to satisfactorily produce one good-sounding note, and John is able to produce three, as he’s probably played violin before, as that’s what rich boys do apparently. I think that’s good for the first day. 

Miss Clermont claps her hands and the room falls back into the order of straight, quiet rows. She surveys the class, and finding us to her approval, nods curtly. “Excellent work everyone. Now, with our last twenty minutes or so, I have recordings of the options for the next song we will perform.” Hmm. Recordings? What? I mean… could they be any stranger than the weird candles in boxes that seem to be everywhere, lighting the buildings? Or those gray-black things that I still don’t know how to work? She taps some buttons on one, and suddenly sound fills the room. I jump back and fall out of my chair, earning me a disapproving look from John and a curious one from Theo.  After composing myself I can finally listen to the noise, whatever it is.

It’s definitely music, but I can’t identify it further than that. It doesn’t sound like any sort of song that I’ve ever heard. Mostly people singing and not enough instruments. But the rest of the class seems to think it’s normal. Weird. Once it finishes, everyone begins to pack up. Shoving books and papers into bags, shouting to their friends who are just across the room, shutting instruments into clunky cases. Oh yeah… are we supposed to take our violins home? Before I can ask anyone the bell rings again and we have to sprint to our next class. Dang.

“Mr. Hamilton. Mr. Laurens.” I turn around and blink at Miss Clermont quizzically. She rolls her eyes and waves us over. Oh, yeah, I should have figured that out. I redden slightly, kind of embarrassed, and walk over. Are we in trouble? “Alright, so as you two are just beginning, and this is an awkward time for such, would you be able to stay after school today to practice and so I can teach you more basics.” John shrugs. “Sure ma’am.” She nods. “Excellent. Please call your parents once the dismissal bell rings so they know to pick you up later. It should be about an hour and a half or so,” she adds. Oh.  Um… yeah… how do we respond? “Yes, but um… our… mom? She doesn’t care as long as we’re home by 10 and we just walk ourselves home,” I mumble.

Miss Clermont blinks. “You two are brothers? And 10 PM? Are you sure? Maybe I should call her…” John’s eyes immediately widen. “No ma’am, there’s no need. And we’d rather not divulge our family situation if you don’t mind.” She immediately backs off and drops the topic. “Alright. I will see you here at 3:20. Go to your next classes now,” she says, shooing us off. John and I hightail it out of there and into the hallway. “Room 119, History,” he announces, scowling at me. “Hey, what’d I do?” I ask, concerned. He rolls his eyes and, grabbing my arm, drags me down the hallway. “You made it seem like we are brothers. We are not and every night I count my blessings including and especially that fact. Alright?  _ That’s _ what you did.” I blink and open my mouth to respond, but I am cut off as we enter the history classroom.


	5. Chapter 5

“Hello boys,” a very portly older woman announces. “I am Mrs. May, and we are learning about the American Revolution. I trust your old school gave you some information on this topic.” Wait… she said…  _ American Revolution _ ? I remember that. My eyes light up and I practically tackle her. “Who won it?” She blinks and pushes her glasses up on her nose. “Is this your idea of a joke?” I shake my head vigorously. “No, no. Just… please tell me.  _ Who won the American Revolution _ ?” John has to physically restrain me from tripping onto her. “Um… England,” she says. No.  _ How _ ? We  _ lost _ ? No. She must see the distress in my eyes as she sighs. “America, duh. We live in America. If the Patriots hadn’t won we wouldn’t be living in America, we’d still be a British colony.” Yes! I beam and in the excitement of the moment, hug John. “We won we won we won LAURENS WE DID IT!” He good-naturedly pushes me away. “Yes, I heard,” he says, trying to downplay his excitement, but I can see the light shining behind his eyes.

The teacher frowns and crosses her arms. “Young man, are you alright?” I grin at her. “Yep! And I’m ready to learn!” I don’t care if the entire rest of the world got screwed up after the Revolution, we  _ did it _ ! She shrugs and points us towards two empty desks. I practically run in and over to my seat, yeah, that’s how excited I am. John rolls his eyes but can’t hide the happiness in his tone. “Calm down Alexander.” I beam at him but obediently take my seat. 

Mrs. May presses some buttons on one of those gray-black computer things and an image is projected onto a board in the front of the room. “Thank you class. Now, today we’ll be covering the Battle of Saratoga. This was an important turning point of the war, because it showed the French that the Americans could have a chance of winning. Once they saw that, they sent aid and troops to us.” Ooh that’s good. She switches the image some more times, points to stuff, talk about stuff, it’s pretty interesting. Then she removes the image from the screen and claps her hands. “Everyone, take out your computers and go to SchoolSpace.”

Oh. No clue how to do that. I glance at John, who shrugs and takes his computer-thing out of his bag. I follow suit, and open the top of it.  There’s a blank black screen on the front and at the bottom, there’s some buttons that have numbers and letters and stuff on them. Um… how do I make this work? I strain to remember what that note said.  _ Press the rectangular black button?  _ But there’s several of them. Oh! Maybe she means the one at the bottom. I press it frantically, but the screen doesn’t light up. John doesn’t seem to be having any better luck. Well if this button doesn’t work I’ll just press  _ all _ the rectangular black buttons until something happens.

By trial and mostly error, I manage to hit a button that makes my screen go bright, and an image comes up with three boxes. There’s a square one that seems to have no purpose, and two skinny ones saying ‘username’ and ‘password.’ Hmm. “John, what do I do now?” I hiss. He glances over and shrugs. “I have no clue. Maybe we could ask Mrs. May.” Oh really. With all his ‘acting normal,’ he seriously suggests we ask the teacher for help with something that the rest of the students seem to be doing with ease? But I shrug too and he raises his hand. Mrs. May quickly bustles over. “Yes young man? What do you need?” John points to the screen. “Um… we’re new, so we don’t know what our passwords are and stuff.” She nods and pulls a packet of papers off her clipboard. “Let’s see here… Alexander… yours is ‘hamale’ and then ‘111712.’ John, yours would be ‘laujoh’ and ‘1028827.’ Is that good?” I nod and put those into the appropriate boxes.

My screen winks and opens up to a blue screen with a colorful box in the middle. Mrs. May has already walked off, so I can’t ask her what to do. I scan the room to see what other people are doing. “Hey, Hamilton,” someone whispers. I snap up and glare at the person, who turns out to be Isabelle. She snickers rudely. “You clearly don’t know what to do with your computer. Need help?” I roll my eyes. “Not from  _ you _ ,” I mutter. “You’re spectacularly annoying and I’m pretty sure you’re some sort of witch or suchlike because you know way too much about me.” She laughs again. “I’m not a witch. You’re history. I think if Mrs. May would stop and think for just a second, she’d remember you too.” What? Um alright. I shrug and gesture to my computer. “History aside, could you help with this?”

She shrugs and points to a weird little circle at the bottom. “Okay, press this.” I poke the screen, but nothing happens. She laughs. “No. You use the mouse. That’s here.” She moves her finger across a square at the bottom, and a triangle-ish thing moves on the screen. Whoa. I try that too, and the triangle follows where I move it to. Isabelle laughs again. “That’s the mouse. You click stuff with the two buttons under it.” I get a hang of it after a while, but it’s a little disconcerting. I click the weird circle she pointed to before, and another image pulls up on the screen. “Next you type where you want to go in this box. Mrs. May said SchoolSpace, so you’re gonna want to put that in.” Quickly I type it in and press Enter. The screen changes again, and there are a bunch of words and pictures and stuff. Whoa, this is cool. Isabelle smiles. “Good job. That’s how you do what the teachers say. Click on the circle, type in where you’re supposed to go, and check around on there.” I smile quickly and nod. “Well, if Laurens needs help, I trust you can help him,” she says, scooting back to her seat. 

John seems to have gotten to the SchoolSpace, and just in time. Mrs. May claps again. “Everyone, it is now lunch time. Grab your lunch and let’s go!” The class immediately starts swarming out the door. I grab the bag I packed this morning and walk out after them. 


	6. Chapter 6

We walk into a very loud and relatively small mess hall thing. There are students all around, shouting and grabbing papers and eating and all sorts of things. Absolute chaos. Mrs. May points us towards a specific table and the whole class sits down. John and I get pushed to the very end of the table, as we were woefully unprepared for the melee of shoving to get the best seats. It doesn’t seem to be that bad of a location though, in all honesty. The other students are practically all the way at the other side of the table. They’re probably trying to avoid us, because we’re the new students and all. I mean, what’s-her-name… Isabelle, is creepily reading, eating a sandwich, and staring at us, but I get the feeling she’s an outlier.

“So… why are there so many girls here? Do they feel the need to educate their wives? I mean, a little French and stuff isn’t bad, but like… in our science class. About half of the students were girls. Why do they think their wives need to know science?” I ask John. He pauses from opening his food-bag and shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably a bunch of radical people in the future.” Yeah, that seems to make sense. I nod and open my own bag. Right. Mush, bread-meat, and bread. I gingerly push the mush to the side of its container with my spoon. “Is this safe to eat?” John shrugs again. “It was with the rest of the food, so probably.” Yeah, but it could be… like… salt. A flavoring thing. A… very large, very chunky, flavoring thing.

“Yeet. You’re having some trouble with your mac-and-cheese, I see.” Gah! I practically fall off my seat. Isabelle, the creepy stalker, laughs. “It’s mac-and-cheese and it’s very edible. Probably the best food on Earth. Anyway, you eat it with the spoon. It’s noodles with cheese on them.” John wrinkles his nose. “That sounds disgusting.” I nod my head in agreement. “Well, if you don’t like it, I’d be more than happy to eat it for you. But I suggest you try it,” Isabelle says with a little shrug. Oh alright. I’ll at least  _ try _ it. I put some on my spoon and carefully bring it to my mouth. Hmm. It doesn’t taste like anything I’ve had before, and the texture is very off-putting. I’m not quite sure if I like it.

John looks over at me, questioning. I shrug. “It’s…  weird. But it doesn’t taste  _ bad _ .  Just weird.” Isabelle smiles kindly. “I can understand that. I mean, you might, after repeated tries, find out that you like it. If you don’t, that’s fine too.” I nod. “Alright. So… since you’re already here, could you tell us what this weird bread-meat is?” I say, waving a slice in her face. She laughs. “That’s bologna. It’s processed meat. Once you learn about where exactly it comes from you may not want to eat it for a while. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. I still like it,” she says with an impish grin. Ew. Where  _ does _ it come from? If it comes from such a bad place as she’s implying, why would anyone be allowed to eat it?

I push my portion of this bologna over towards Isabelle. “No thank you. You can have it.” She shrugs and nods. “Alright. Not complaining.” She starts to walk back to her seat but I grab her arm. “Wait. So… uh… not speaking for John, but I have a lot of questions. Could you… uh, enlighten me regarding some of them?” She laughs and sits back down. “Sure. Fire away. Well… don’t literally fire anything at me. I know your fondness for weapons. I meant that in a figurative way. Meaning, ask your questions.” Eventually she stops babbling, probably as a result of the complete and utter confusion showing on my face, and sighs. “I can’t explain  _ anything  _ to you people.”

“Uhhhhhh… okay.” I pull out a piece of paper where I recorded my questions. John sighs, very loudly, and Isabelle giggles. “Okay. Why do we have to play the violin? Why can’t we do something, I don’t know, useful, like the drums.” She laughs again. “I find it intriguing that you believe any sort of musical instrument would be useful. I’m not in orchestra myself, so I can’t really explain, but I’m assuming that violins were just what the teacher had available.” Ah. I suppose that makes sense. I nod and squint down at my paper. Oh. I forgot. I can’t read stuff with any major degree of success. “Uh… next… why do you people think ties are fashionable attire?” She blinks at me. “Um ‘cause they  _ are _ . They are very fashionable and I pity you poor fools who think otherwise.” 

Well... okay then. “And I can remember the next question. Why are there so many girls here? And in all the classes and stuff? Is there some big push for educated wives? No offense meant to you of course,” I ask gingerly. Isabelle stares at me, speechless, for a few moments, before bursting out laughing. She laughs and laughs and it gets to the point where I consider calling a medic for her. Eventually she composes herself. “Oh, Alexander. Poor, poor Alexander. Poor Alexander from the 1700’s. You never knew the joys of equality. In… anything frankly.” I glance at John, who just shrugs. “Um… equality. Equality is good? But what does this have to do with educating the girls?” I say carefully. Isabelle rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Like I said, poor Alexander. So, in 1848, that’s when the Women’s Equal Rights Movement really kicked off. Elizabeth Cady Stanton. In the Seneca Falls convention, all the people there agreed on what they wanted and wrote that up. Everyone worked on that, then in 1920, the 19th amendment gave women the right to vote. Then stuff, stuff, more stuff. And now, if you said what you asked me to essentially anyone, you would probably get punched. Women are no longer simply homemakers. There’s still some wage disparities and long-seated prejudices, but there are those for basically every minority group. So. No educating wives. Just educating future leaders of all genders.”

I blink and think through all that in my head. It… sure sounds like a lot of work for those women to do. I’m not sure why they did it, but since they did, there’s no point in wondering why. We can deal with it. 


	7. Chapter 7

Mrs. May returns and the class stands up to leave. I glance at John’s plate, and then mine. Both full. We seem to have been so busy talking that we didn’t eat lunch. John catches my eye and shrugs before shoving his leftovers back in the bag. We follow after the class and return to the classroom. Mrs. May taps the wall briskly with a pointer stick she has. “Alright, your assignment will be on SchoolSpace. It’s a webquest on the Battle of Saratoga. You should finish in maybe twenty minutes. Once you have finished, submit it in the dropbox and you may have some free time before I announce your next project and you are dismissed. Begin working.”

I scroll through the SchoolSpace thing until I find an image of what seems to be a scroll of paper and the words  _ Battle of Saratoga Webquest _ beside it. Well. The grammar in that sentence would imply that the battle was one of Saratoga Webquest. It really should have been  _ Battle of Saratoga: Webquest _ . It’s sad that I could teach this teacher a thing or two about grammar. All grammar mistakes aside, I click on the words and it pulls up a new image.  _ Open up the attached document, click on the link provided, and answer the questions on the document. Drop it in the dropbox when you are done.  _ Okay, I can do this. I obediently click on the image of the ‘document’ and it pulls up a white screen with words on it.

The first few words are all jumbled together and make no logical sense. Uh… huh. Using what I know, I’d say that’s either a flagrant grammar mistake or this ‘link’ I am supposed to click. Let’s see. I click on it and a new screen comes up. That would be the link then. I squint at the page. Ah yes, my crap vision.  _ Really  _ thinking I need glasses. First question.  _ Was the ‘Battle of Saratoga’ just one battle?  _ Well, no. Right here it says ‘the two Battles of Saratoga.’ That clearly shows that it was multiple battles. Whoever made this ‘Webquest’ must be so imbecilic that they need schoolchildren to correct their mistakes. I type the answer, pretty much word-for-word, and move on. 

_ The Battle of Saratoga convinced which country to support America’s cause?  _ Uh… France. That’s another insanely simple one. Seriously, whoever made this must not have even read this website. The rest of the questions are easy, and I have time to spare once I’m done. Huh. Let’s see. After scrolling around aimlessly on that ‘Battle of Saratoga’ page, I locate a box proclaiming ‘Get more articles on American Revolution.’ That sounds promising. I click it and it pulls up a new page. Ooh, interesting. Stuff on… let’s see… the Boston Massacre, the Declaration of Independence, the Battle of Bunker Hill, the Culper Spy Ring, and a bunch of other stuff. Not that informational-looking, honestly. Well, maybe the spy stuff would be interesting. Depends which side they were spying for. 

I scroll down more. Let’s hope the people who made this website thingamabobber weren’t the same dolts who made the ‘Webquest,’ and they actually put some interesting information on here. Uh… ‘George Washington.’ That might be what I’m looking for. General Washington is a powerful figure, and there’s bound to be something good about him. ‘John Adams.’ Why does he look so… fat and ugly? That’s honestly the ugliest portrait I’ve ever seen. I’ve barely even heard of the man. 

Ooh. ‘Alexander Hamilton.’ I’m famous. Also decidedly middle-aged, so that’s weird, but apparently I’m famous enough to warrant being put anywhere in the general vicinity of George Washington. No clue why exactly I’m famous, but I’ll work with it. I go to click on the link but someone slams my computater-or-whatever-it’s-called shut. “Ah, ah, ah,” Isabelle  _ tsk _ s. “You should not read that until you’re older.” I roll my eyes. “Young lady I am a… twenty-something-year-old in a twelve-year-old’s body and you are a twelve-year-old in a twelve-year-old’s body, I am clearly the older one here.” My voice does a very unmanly voice crack in the middle of the sentence and I redden. Isabelle laughs. “I respect your… obvious age difference, but you honestly don’t need to know some stuff, because it’d probably mess up the past and some weird time fluke would make it so we were all mutated into giant crabs.” I blink at her in confusion and slight concern. “But, and note, I am all for not being a mutated crab, wouldn’t knowing the possible stupid stuff I may or may not have done help me with avoiding those mistakes once I get back to my rightful place?”

Isabelle laughs again and waves a hand at me. “Sure, sure, but I think your mistakes are so large you have no chance of avoiding them even if you moved to the mountains and became a cave-dweller. You’ll see what I mean in… oh… 1804.” I blink at her. Clearly she knows something I don’t. I lean over the desk to squint directly at her. “Isabelle, tell me now, young lady, or I will make you dig the latrines.” Her laugh is even longer and louder now, and a few classmates give us curious stares, or, in some cases, glares. “Oh my God he’s pulling rank,” she sputters out after composing herself a bit. I cross my arms and scowl. “And I will also make you clean out the latrines.” She giggles and covers her mouth. “There’s some magical little pots these days that are called toilets and they clean themselves, well, after you flush them. You are just so… not stupid… but…. oh my God, boy, you’re hilarious.”

“Ahem,” someone says. We both glance up and Mrs. May is glaring down at us. “Excuse me Miss Isabelle, but I’m fairly certain that Mr. Alexander knows what a toilet is.” I shrug semi-pathetically. “Actually, I didn’t, but they sound more complicated than latrines so I’m not sure if I really needed to know.” Mrs. May takes a deep breath and I can hear her muttering some… choice words under her breath. “Mr. Alexander. Miss Isabelle. Please see me at my desk.” She storms off and Isabelle shrugs at me. “Well, guess we’d better go.” I scowl at her and swiftly walk over to Mrs. May’s desk.

Once Isabelle has joined us, Mrs. May starts her rant. Something about disturbing the class and am I delusional and expectations and for heaven’s sake what sort of person doesn’t know about toilets even the Amish know about toilets have I been living under a rock? I mostly tune it out, and it looks like Isabelle is doing the same thing. When the rant is concluded we both nod like we knew what Mrs. May said and she sighs again. “Alright. Return to your  _ separate _ seats, please and thank you.”

After all that, we  _ still _ have a minute before Mrs. May will be ‘announcing our next project.’ She strides to the front of the classroom and claps her hands. “Okay everyone, those webquests should be submitted to the dropbox. So, our next project… drumroll please,” she announces with minimal sign of the anger from just before. No one rolls any drums anywhere, probably good, and she shrugs. “You will be researching some negotiation, meeting, compromise, et cetera, that proved a crucial part of forming our nation. Some examples are the surrender at Yorktown, the Treaty of Paris, the Constitutional Convention, and, although we are focusing on the Revolutionary Era, I would accept the Louisiana Purchase if the final product was exemplary. Anyway, you will, in groups of five, make a short script or skit and then act it out in front of the class, to teach your fellow classmates about what you researched. You will have two weeks. Any questions?”

A few kids raise their hands and mumble something or other. Then Mrs. May instructs us to find our groups. John immediately stands next to me. “I need to keep an eye on you so you don’t murder anyone,” he mutters. “Not to mention you actually have some basic wits about you, unlike the rest of these ruffians.” I nod. “That works.” Isabelle saunters over to us, two girls behind her. I roll my eyes. “And here come the ruffians.” She laughs. “Watch yourself young man, or I’ll make you clean the latrines. Oh wait. Latrines are sooooo 1700’s,” she says, in a very bad imitation of my voice. John shrugs. “Ruffians or not, they’re probably the best bet we have for a group.” Isabelle smiles at him. “See, Hamilton? Laurens knows how awesome we are. So, these are my friends and your new group members. Willa, history nerd and total fangirl. And Char, bookworm, fanperson, and occasional inventor, with a few successful tries and a lot more exploded experiments.”

The Willa girl grins at us and curtsies slightly. “Nice to meet ya. I will try my best to not go out of my way to torment you, no matter how much you may or may not deserve it.” I shrug and bow, as etiquette dictates when a young lady curtsies to you. John hits my elbow disapprovingly. “Not now,” he hisses. Huh. I thought that manners were not the sort of thing that had a time to  _ not _ be used. I stand back up straight and shrug again. All three of the girls start giggling, but to their credit, hide it behind their hands. Charlotte crosses her eyes and sticks her tongue out at me. Uh. That’s certainly not proper etiquette. “I’m Charlotte. Don’t be fooled by my outward appearance, one of these days I’m going to invent something that will make my detractors rue the day they were born.”

John nods. “Great. Uh… we’ve got our group. So, let’s get down to business. Which ‘negotiation, meeting, compromise, et cetera’ will we be doing for our project. I am disappointed to admit that neither Alexander nor I are as enlightened in this subject as you, so you will probably be able to have better ideas regarding it.” Isabelle titters. “Let’s ignore that last sentence as I’m fairly sure it was a complete lie. You guys aren’t ‘not as enlightened,’ you’re literally from the 1700’s, correct? Hmmmmmm?” John reddens. “Um. Let us gloss over the particulars of where or when we may or may not be from.”

Willa laughs, a full-bodied laugh. “Okay, okay, we’re glossing. But, like Izzy said, some point in the 1700’s, if you’re both here. Although of course it could be the 1800’s for Alexander and 1700’s for John,” she muses. Charlotte jumps in. “But, considering that Alex didn’t know who won the Revolutionary War, I’d say some time between 1775 or 1776 and 1784.” Isabelle nods. “Char, great point, Will, good job too. Now, since they’re both here, and I’m just assuming they knew each other before they came here, I’d say that it would be between possibly late 1776 and middle of 1782. John, no offense.”

This sends them into another fit of giggles and John and I exchange looks. Pretty sure these girls are having a bout of hysteria. Isabelle puts her hands on her hips. “Yeah, no offense of course.” John squints one eye and nods. “None taken. But could we move on from the theoretical year we may or may not have come from and actually work on this project?” Willa shrugs. “Nah. The bell’s about to ring. Bye! See y’all next class!” All three of them walk off and John curses under his breath. “Les filles. Elles sont folles,” he mutters. I nod sympathetically. “From what I have gathered so far, at this point a modern-day boy would pat his friend on the back and say something to the effect of ‘yo, my dank boy, I feel you bruh.’ I see no reason to do such. But I’m sorry. Girls have not gotten any less strange over time it seems.” His mouth quirks up in a smile. “You are correct.” I smile back, glad that I could slightly amuse him.

The bell rings and Mrs. May flaps her hands about in what seems like a very good imitation of a duck being brutally murdered. “Have a nice afternoon! Work on your projects!” The exodus from the classroom is swift and I am not trampled to death, so that’s good. “Are there any more classes?” I ask John once we’re in the hallway. He pulls out the already well-worn paper and scans it. “Uh… yes. Math. Room 203.” Oh fantastic. Math. Something I’m quite proficient at. We set off at a quick, almost jogging pace, and still tumble into the classroom only a few seconds before the bell.

A man who must be the teacher of  _ this _ class frowns at us. “No fighting. Student Handbook, Chapter 13, Section 1a. Or, in the case of you two, is the more relevant rule no public displays of affection? That would be Student Handbook, Chapter 5, Section 3b.” The class behind him giggles at that. John scowls back up at the teacher. “First off, I noticed no physical contact between the two of us. That should prove both of those theories flagrantly wrong. And second, if I were to be displaying my affection for  _ anyone _ publicly, do you honestly think it would be affection for  _ him _ ? What sort of teacher are you? You jump to conclusions far too easily. Let us all count our blessings that you are simply our math teacher, and not our philosophy one.”

The teacher’s mouth opens in a little  _ o _ shape. “Is this insubordination I’m hearing? Student Handbook, Chapter 3, Section 12c.” John glowers. “Believe me, this is nowhere near insubordination. This is just a stupid mathematics class, there is no life, limb, or property being endangered by my actions. True insubordination is running away in the heat of battle, despite the commands of someone who rightfully outranks you, and leaving your fellow soldiers to die. Do you understand?” The teacher’s frown lines deepens. “Yes, insubordination,” he mumbles to himself. Honestly, John looks like he’s about to explode. “For God’s sake, man! I have had an absolutely horrific past two days! I have to deal with this one here,” he snaps, jerking a finger towards me. I shrug, offended but not all that offended. “Then if that’s not bad enough, the available food either looked like food for mules, or feces. We got to this cesspit, I have to deal with a strange girl or two or three who know far too much about my personal history, and then I have to play the violin. Next, I didn’t eat anything at lunch, I just remembered that I forgot about breakfast, teachers keep being annoying, and YOU ARE BLAMING ME OF INSUBORDINATION!”


	8. Chapter 8

And that is how we get sent to the ‘principal’s office.’ I don’t know exactly what that means, but it sounds like being scolded by a commander. So honestly, I’m not sure why I am dragged along with John. I wasn’t being insubordinate or suchlike. But here we are. John huffs and crosses his arms. “Sorry Alexander,” he mumbles. I shrug. “It’s fine.”

The aforementioned principal opens a door and waves us in. She’s a medium-height woman of possibly African origin, with stern, if hair can be stern, black curls. “So… what brought you two boys here today?” she asks once we’re seated. John looks up at her. “Well, apparently I was being insubordinate. No clue why Alexander is here.” The principal nods. “I see. Oh, silly me. I’m Miss Kelley. Uh, from your records, I see that you two are… new to our school… new to our county… and there’s no transferred papers from your previous school. Homeschooled?” I shrug. “Yes, um, also very private schools.” She squints at me but shrugs, slightly dismissively. “Okay. Technically these schools, no matter how private, should have passed papers along, but we can work with what we’ve got.”

I nod and John slowly slides down his seat, arms crossed. Huh. I glance at him but he just scowls back. Yeech. I know a bad mood when I see one. Miss Kelley taps a pencil on her desk. “So, boys, what are we going to do?” she asks, tone bordering on exhaustion. “Well, I’d like to go home, get some coffee, and sleep. You probably want the same or similar thing,” I say brightly. She just stares at me and gives a small shake of her head. “Growing boys don’t need coffee, and also I  _ meant _ what are we going to do for consequences.” I cross my arms and adopt a similar stance as John. “I didn’t actually do anything so if you could not give me consequences that would be great. But, if you insist, a suitable punishment would be to clean the latrines, but I have been told that you don’t even have those anymore. Uh… we’re not Loyalists so tarring and feathering us wouldn’t be appropriate.”

She continues to stare at me, practically gaping. John hits my arm, hard. “Shut up Alexander,” he hisses. I give a half-apologetic shrug but continue. “Loss of town leave would be reasonable enough, but from what I’ve seen, you let everyone walk about as they please, no matter their age or station, so I have doubts that you could effectively administer the punishment. Loss of wages would also be decent, but if this school gives wages then it is the strangest school I have ever seen.” Miss Kelley just blinks slowly at me and John hits my arm again. “Shut. Up.” Miss Kelley flips through some papers. “Alexander. Is this a practical joke?” I shake my head and give a fake-sincere smile. “No ma’am. Just no one in this God-forsaken place seems to understand order and discipline and the FAINTEST IDEA OF HOW GROUPS ARE SUPPOSED TO WORK! WHAT IS YOU PEOPLE’S PROBLEM? And bologna! What the heck is bologna? It’s not even vaguely edible-seeming!”

Looks like it’s my turn to snap. Dang it. Miss Kelley sighs and rests her hand on her forehead. “Alexander. You are worrying me. I know it’s your first day, and you might feel out of place.” Boy. She has  _ no idea  _ how out of place I feel. “Go home, talk to your parents or something, and come back tomorrow, hopefully better situated.” I stand up and bang my hands on the table. “You do not and will  _ never _ understand how much I wish I could talk to my parents. It’s inconsiderate to suggest that I could just, first off, go back to my home, and second, talk to my parents just like that!” I shout. My home is destroyed. My parents are dead or close enough to it. So,  _ no _ , I will not be going back. “Alexander Hamilton, calm down for once in your life,” John whispers, spitting the words out with more force than necessary. Miss Kelley sighs again. “I apologize for assuming anything about your family situation. You’re clearly stressed. I’m sure everything will look brighter tomorrow,” she says gently. 

I frown deeply and sit back down. “Yes ma’am,” I mumble, all the fight gone out of me. She nods and smiles in an attempt to pacify me. “Great. If you need anything, if either of you need anything, my door is always open. Have a nice afternoon.” She dismisses us and both John and I sprint down the hallway and out the front door, not even looking at one another.

“We forgot… we have to go… back to the music room… to practice… the violin… remember,” John says, winded, when we stop on the front lawn. Hand, meet my face. “Ugh, yeah. You’re absolutely correct.” He gives a shrug and tugs the front door of the school open again. The hallways are deserted, most of the students having fled to the buses. We do see a few stragglers, but they mostly steer clear of us. Just great. One day in this place and we’re already the ‘weird’ ‘kids.’ Neither of which we actually are, but I suppose people  _ do _ judge books by their covers.

Miss Clermont frowns at us as we enter her classroom. “You two boys are late.” I smile apologetically. “I’m very sorry, ma’am. We… forgot… and then we were… unaccustomed to the layout of the school, this being our first day.” She  _ humph _ s and beckons us to follow her. John and I trip around, almost falling down on several large instruments. Finally we get situated with our violins and sit down to begin. Miss Clermont passes us each a sheaf of papers. “These are your basic songs. They may seem  _ too _ basic, but they are exactly what you need to start. Don’t worry, you’ll get to more complicated stuff soon enough,” she says, voice softening to an almost-kind tone.

After what seems like an eternity of squeaky notes and dropped bows, we are released and begin the walk back to our ‘apartment’ thingy. “That was… a disaster,” John says slowly at about Ridge Street. I nod in total agreement. “That was a very  _ large _ disaster. And we didn’t even get to do math!” He laughs at that. “Yes. It was almost worth it though, to yell at that teacher.” We reach our apartment and quickly unlock the door. “I’m going to eat something and then go to sleep,” John announces, dropping his book-bag onto the floor.

I shrug and put my bag next to his. “Good for you. I don’t know what I’ll do but I’ll go ahead and do it.” He nods, with a shrug, and grabs an apple off the table. “Don’t play your infernal violin, I’ll never be able to fall asleep if you do.” I give a salute and he goes off to his room.

Time ticks by as I turn the apartment upside down looking for paper and something to write with, find it, and sit down on a chair. Now, what to write? For once I’m at a loss for words. There are no casualties I need to write sympathy letters for, I’m mildly concerned that the entire French nation may have fallen off the face of the earth, so no letters there, and I don’t know enough about the politics of this… future, which means no angry essays. That school has tired me out more than I anticipated, and before I know it, I’m asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

I’m awoken by a loud booming noise that I remember from my nightmares. Oh God. It’s like I’m seventeen again, and running upstairs as the water floods the house. I bite my lip and cover my ears, but I can still hear the thunder.

_ “Alexander!”Josiah, one of my fellow clerks shouts. I look up at his worried face. Then look down at the floor. Water laps around my shoes, and it’s rising. Outside, I can hear horrible sounds. Screams, wood breaking, roaring wind. Josiah runs over and physically pulls me out of my chair. “Alex! We have to go upstairs now!” My legs complain about the movement, but I sprint up the stairs after him. The attic has a window, or, well, had, because now all the glass is shattered. I peer out the hole and see mass destruction. People are drowning, houses are being pulled up, everything and anything that you can imagine is flying around. I have to swallow my own vomit when I see what suspiciously looks like a dismembered leg.  _

_ Josiah tugs me down to the floor. “Look, Alexander, we need to stay down,” he hisses violently. I nod and start running prayers through my head.  _ Hail Mary, full of grace. 

_ Somehow, somehow, I survive the next hour. I have no clue how, I have no clue what I did to deserve this. By all rights, I should have drowned or been impaled or any other number of gruesome deaths. And if not any of those, then I should have died of fright. Somehow I didn’t. i think the storm is over until I look out the shattered window-hole. It’s nowhere  _ close _ to over. The wind has died down slightly but the rain has made up for the loss. _

_ My feet start to feel… damp… and I pull my attention away from the chaos outside. The water… the water is in the second floor now. Josiah notices too and curses under his breath. “Alex, stay calm and don’t act hysterical,” he warns.  _

_ The water begins to rush higher. _

_ When it reaches my stockings, I realise I’m too scared to move. _

_ This might be the end. _

_ I look around frantically for some hope. _

_ The roof. _

_ The roof is my only chance of survival.  _

_ I let the water buoy me up until I can hack at the roof. It doesn’t take much to break a hole through it, it’s been weakened so much already. Once the hole is large enough, I call on all my upper-body strength to pull myself up, and finally straggle to the top. For a moment I collapse, exhausted, on the shingles, before a new worry invades my thoughts.  _ Josiah. _ I kneel down on the edge of the hole and peer down. “Josiah?” I shout. But there’s nothing but black, swirling water. He’s gone. He’s  _ gone _.  _

That’s where they found me two days later. Soaking wet, dehydrated, shaking with fever, and half-starved. I had made it, against all odds, when very few others had. The house I was on was one of the two or three not entirely leveled. I had survived, somehow. I had survived, and what seemed like the end of my world really opened the door to higher and better places. The hurricane led to my writing of the poem that got me noticed, the poem led to New York, New York led to college, and college led to the army. Of course, the army somehow led to this… weird future thing with weird girls, but that can be glossed over.

“Alexander?” a voice says softly, jolting me out of my thoughts. I look up and give a sheepish smile to John. “Sorry, I didn’t think I was making noise.” He sighs heavily and sits down on one of the chairs next to mine. “You were screaming.” Oh. “What happ- oh. It was the storm, wasn’t it?” he continues gently. I nod, embarrassed that I’m acting so much like a helpless child. John awkwardly pats my arm. “I get it. Here, would you like me to stay awake with you until the storm is over?” I’d actually like that a lot. Quickly I nod again and John pulls out a book. “Fine. You do your… writing or something, and I’ll read,” he says, some of his customary curtness coming back. I duck my head and manage to start working on some… essay on politics I guess. Not here-present politics but, you know, politics from  _ my _ present. “Hey, John, thank you,” I whisper quietly after a few minutes. He looks up and gives a nod, coupled with a kind smile, something I've barely ever seen from him. “You’re welcome.”

~~~~~

The next morning, I wake up with my face smushed against my papers. John’s seat is empty, and I can hear him walking around in his room. He comes out after a moment or so, and gives me a glare that could kill a dragon. “We will not be discussing the events of last night. We both slept through the storm, and I  _ by no means _ had to comfort your silly butt after you started screaming. Understand?” he says snappily. Well, it was nice while it lasted. I give a nod and stand up to head to my own room to get dressed.

We follow the same routine as yesterday, but this time, we’re stopped before we can leave our apartment building. “Boys, isn’t school cancelled?” a crackly voice booms from a desk. John and I both look over at the man who must be the landlord. “Oh, sorry, sir, I suppose our mother didn’t hear the news. Thank you, sir,” John replies, recovering before me. The man grins. “You’re welcome, young man. This is your cue to throw off your backpacks and go run out to play basketball with your buddies, or whatever you boys do these days.” John and I both nod and smile at him, running back up to our apartment.

“The school is  _ cancelled _ ?” I ask, flopping on a couch. John shrugs. “Sure, that storm last night might have caused some problem for these weak future people, and even if school isn’t cancelled, we won’t go anyway,” he says with a wry smile. But what if school’s cancelled because  _ it got washed away entirely _ ? That’s the sort of thing that happens during storms. At least, I think it is.

“So… what do we do?” I say slowly. John grins. “Anything we want! This is the  _ future _ we’re talking about! Like, what did you always want to have? They’ve probably invented it by now!” he exclaims enthusiastically. I give a shrug. “A strong government? A free country? I don’t know.” He laughs, a clear, bright sound. “Yeah, yeah, but like… I’d like to have… a… well, for one, a quicker way to and from Europe. Those boat trips take  _ ages _ .” Pff. I don’t think we can just go take a quick trip to France and be back for tomorrow. At least, I have a feeling that two twelve-year-old unaccompanied boys would be able to. There are probably laws or something. And maybe there’s not even a quicker way.

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” John blurts out, seeing my confused facial expression. “But like, there’s… we have the opportunity to learn so much! Like… if there’s like… a museum, they might have information about us… or… the war for independence, even though we already know we won, or… other stuff! Ooh, or we could walk down to Carolina and see if Mepkin is still there!” I laugh, shaking my head. “John, there is  _ no _ way we can walk down to your plantation when it might not even be there. We’re in Albany, for God’s sake.” He nods in agreement. “You’re right,” he sighs. “But a museum! Eh?”

I roll my eyes good-naturedly. “Fine, fine, a museum,” I reply slowly. John cheers, pulling me off the couch and back out the door. Honestly I’m not sure how we’re supposed to just go and find a museum, but if anyone can do it, it’s us. We’ll probably have a lot of dead-ends and turnabouts, but we’ll find a museum eventually. Hopefully it’s a good one.


	10. Chapter 10

In fact, we manage to find one in under an hour. We’re walking pretty fast during that hour, but we still get there. Also, it starts to rain about halfway in. And not just a light mist. Full-on pouring buckets of rain. We look like drowned rats by the time we stumble into the museum, but the warmth from inside immediately remedies the situation.

A lady sitting at a big brown desk smiles kindly at us. “Hello there boys. What are you lookin’ for today?” she asks with a strong Southern accent. John gasps and runs over. “Ma’am, might you be from Carolina?” he asks enthusiastically. She laughs. “Yes, actually. The Charleston area.” John shoots me a smug look and continues. “Me too! Say, is the… uh… Mepkin Plantation still standing?” The woman gives another laugh. “Yes sirree. I’ve visited it myself a couple times. At least, it’s still standing unless that recent hurricane ruined it…” she says pensively. At the word ‘hurricane’ my chest starts to tighten. 

John gives an apologetic smile to the woman and adds a little bow. “Well, thank you for the help, ma’am. I’m John Laurens, it was a pleasure to meet you!” he calling back, running off. I see the woman trying to think that through in her head. “John… Laurens… wait! Young man! Wait!” she shouts after him. When she realizes he’s out of earshot, she turns to me. “And who are you? George Washington? Alexander Hamilton?” I give a nervous laugh. “Funny you should say that. Yes. I am Alex, at your service,” I say with a bow. 

She laughs lightly. “Well. I mean… it’s better that you boys are committing identity theft of our founding fathers, instead of playing Fortnite.” Hmph. I guess she’d be  _ really  _ freaked out if she knew we really were who we said we were. It’s probably best that she doesn’t believe us. So I just give a winning smile. “You got me.” That gets a laugh from her and she hands me one of the map thingies. “Well, Mr.  _ Alexander Hamilton _ , the Federalist exhibit is upstairs. And you might want to tell your little friend that there’s a whole section about the abolishment of slavery.”

I gasp. Slavery is abolished? John will be so excited! I give another bow to the woman and run off in the vague direction that I remember John going. He turns out to have already found the slavery exhibit, and is busy ranting about how ‘it took them long enough and seriously,  _ another _ war was necessary for them to get that concept in their stupid little heads!’ I just watch him for a few minutes, holding in silent laughs. After his speech is over, he finally notices my arrival and his cheeks tint with red. “Alexander.” I let my laugh out and grin. “John. And wow, you’re really passionate about that.”

He rolls his eyes flamboyantly. “Yes, and you knew that.” True, true, but it’s still funny to point out. I shrug and scan the large room that we’re in. The woman at the desk made it sound like I’d be interesting in the ‘Federalist exhibit.’ Probably she knows something about me that I don’t, yet. But I can find out! Eventually my eyes find the sign and I tug on John’s sleeve. “I’ll be over there.” He’s turned back to reading some board, and only gives a grunt in reply. Well, I guess he heard me.

I quickly scamper off in that direction and practically run into a large round table thing. Hmm. Pacing around, I find a sign that reads ‘Are You A Federalist? digital quiz.’ This is definitely the correct area then. The table has an image of some really old-looking people on it. Whoever drew this was  _ certainly  _ a less-than-exemplary artist. The quality is very low, and it looks like a infant drew lines and then colored them in. All the faces look the same.

“Those are cartoon drawings,” a voice says next to me. I jump back, startled, and stare at the new arrival, who appears to be a thirteen-year-old… girl? I think? I really cannot tell. They laugh and stick their hand out. “Yes, I look mostly like a female but kinda present myself like a male, right now, at least. Thanks for noticing. Also, I’m not thirteen, only twelve and three quarters. You were saying all that aloud, that and the stuff about these about the display. Okay, hi, call me El. Short for both Elizabeth and Eli. I also use they/them pronouns. If you have a problem with that, then I don’t need to talk to you.” I shake their hand, still a little spooked, but manage a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, El. I am Alexander, short for… nothing, really. But you can call me Alex.” El gives a grin back. “Nice to meet ya too, Alex. So! Have you been to this museum before?”

I politely shake my head. “Nope. I…  _ we _ , my friend and I, just… moved… here on Sunday.” El shrugs, tapping at the weird circular table. The image on the screen changes to words that I can’t even read, being that they are so blurry and… oh. Yeah. Glasses. I make a mental note to remind John that I need to get glasses. “That’s coolio,” El says. “I’ve lived here my entire life. And this is my first time here though. I could give you a speech about half of the topics in the place though. Want me to?”

This time, it’s my turn to laugh. “You sound like me. And sure!” They grin and give a half-bow, half-curtsy thing. “Fantastic! So, the Federalist Papers were a collection of 85 essay written by John Jay, James Madison, and Alexander Hamilton, supporting the yet-to-be-ratified US Constitution, and condemning the Articles of Confederation.” I stop them right there. “Um, can you repeat the names again?” I ask. If I heard correctly, then that means I learned something about... the past? My future? Anyway, it’s something that I didn’t know before.

El smiles. “Jay, Madison, and Hamilton. Anyway, they wrote these essays in an attempt to collect the 9 out of 13 states’ votes that were needed to ratify the Constitution. They were written with both logical argument and propaganda, which, in my opinion, was a very good mix. Also, they discussed other relevant political happenings of the time. The essays were published in some New York newspapers, and a couple out-of-state ones as well, and, interestingly, had almost no effect on the public opinion, because they were so loftily written that the average person couldn’t even understand them,” they continue.

Hmm. This is vastly intriguing. “These days, they are often used to help interpret the intentions and thoughts of those who were drafting the Constitution, and they are considered some of the most important contributions to political thought. Lemme tell you something. Someday, I want to do pretty much the same stuff those guys did. I mean, obviously I can’t write the Constitution, but like, I want to be a politician or at least a governor,” El finishes with a laugh.

I give a polite round of applause and they bow-curtsy again. “I can see it now. El, the ruler of the colony” When I say that, they give me a weird look. “Uh… this is kinda the 21st century, so we’re kinda states now. And also, it’s called a governor. Or even, a  _ president _ . Now  _ that’d  _ be cool.” I don’t exactly know what they mean by ‘president,’ but I’m fairly certain that’s one of the things I should know if I’m trying to act like a contemporary youth. But I’ll get that weird look again if I ask, so I just keep my mouth shut.

“Alex! Alex!” John shouts, running up to me. “Slavery was abolished in 1865!” Then he notices El and gives a sweeping bow. “Hello there, miss. I am John, at your disposal.” El’s nose wrinkles and they smirk. “Hello yourself, I am El, short for Eli,” they say haughtily, bowing back. John reddens, embarrassed, and he mumbles something vaguely apologetic. I know I shouldn’t, but I let out a laugh, seeing my friend’s discomfort. He scowls at me, slapping my arm. “Silence yourself,” he hisses through clenched teeth. I laugh once more and smile at both him and El. “Okay, yeah, El, this is my friend, John. And I apologize for his behavior.”

They nod and shake John’s hand. “Apology accepted. So, do y’all have phones?” John and I share a glance. Eek. “Well... we do have phones… but... we don’t know how to use them,” I say slowly. El laughs. “Okay, okay, I won’t ask questions, no matter how much I am confused. Well, can I see your phones so I can teach you how to receive calls so we can talk?” John squints. “But… we are talking right now. Right? Alexander? Aren’t we talking?” El gives another snort of laughter and holds out their hand for our phones. “Yeah, but I meant so we can talk  _ later _ .”

After ten minutes or so of John and I clustering around El as they tap buttons on our phones, it’s done. “Okay, I sent a text from both of your phones to mine, so I have your number. If I call you, then you press the green button if it’s a good time to talk. Red if it’s not. If I text you, you just type your response and it’ll send to me once you press enter. Got it?” they announce. We both nod and they grin. “Great! Until either y’all or I have to go, wanna explore this museum together?”

Just like that, we’ve made a new friend, unlocked some of the mysteries of these phone things, and explored a new place. After an hour of so of running around and reading every single sign I can find, or making John read them for me, El has to go, and we all say our goodbyes, as they promise to call us “ASAP.” Which  _ probably _ isn’t an insult, no matter how much it sounds like one. 

“So… she was nice,” John says as we’re walking out of the museum, ignoring the desk lady. Which, by the way, was  _ not _ my idea. That desk lady was cool. I give a nod to my friend. “Mhmm. But was she a girl?” That’s the big question I have here. John shrugs back, as confused as I am. “I don’t know. Is that something new in this future? Like, maybe El was… both?” I’m not sure if that’s a thing or not, but he nods like I just made an excellent point.


End file.
